Yes, it was probably about time. The Kid is eight, after all. Eight and half, she’d say.
Yes, I was careless and maybe wanting to be found out. I left the jelly bean bag in the cabinet where she could find it. Where she could put two and two together. Where she could begin that bumpy journey of losing her innocence.
“Mom, why are these same type of jelly beans in the cabinet that were in the eggs I found in the yard?!” she accused this weekend.
I had a choice. I could continue the lie with a oh-no-they’re-different or it-IS-odd-isn’t-it? But I took a few seconds and bit the bullet. I confessed. Those plastic eggs in the yard, the ones we reuse each year
hello!, I put them out there.
And guess what? My little sophisticated, singing and dancing, runway modeling, eight-going-on-eighteen daughter cried. A lot.
We’re both still sad here. Her, for the loss of the Easter Bunny and being lied to by her parents.
Me, for her taking yet another, big step into growing up, up and away.